The Long Way Home
The Iron Bridge is a restaurant located outside of Mercer, Pa. It is one of three restaurants standing in a row owned by the Springfield Restaurant Group on PA Route 19, and was the original restaurant in what is a strong regional and now rapidly growing national chain. But the Iron Bridge still stands on its own, and quite frankly is heads above its cloned Springfield Grill (good, but not great) sister establishments in quality and atmosphere. It is the best restaurant my wife and I have ever eaten in, anywhere, anyplace, and we have been to a lot of places.
It is in the middle of nowhere. There are two ways to get there. One can hop on the freeway and it is about 40 miles from my driveway down I-80. The other way is to drive through Youngstown and Campbell to Ohio Rt. 422, then to PA 208, and take the winding road through West Middlesex, New Wilmington, and Volant to PA Route 19. That is the long way. Last night, we took the freeway there as I was really hungry, but we took the long way home.
Do you ever take the long way home? Everyone should do that every now and then. The long way home from Mercer is a winding road through rolling hills of manicured farms and picture perfect small, college towns. It is like driving through a landscape. The road is the heart of the Western Pennsylvania Amish country, and the farms are punctuated with rolled hay, corn stacks, and horse and buggies.
The long way home always offers us a surprise. Last summer we took the long way home and drove right into a hot air balloon festival with the balloons and gondolas rising in front of a stunning sunset. Magnificent. The ride down PA 208 is particularly beautiful on a summer’s evening or in the autumn, but no matter what the season or the weather, each trip provides its own distinct mood and beauty. I remember driving home last winter in the dark and snow around Christmas time, and looking at the decorated houses, some simple and others elaborate, lighting up the hills and that dark, snowy road. It doesn't get much better than that.
It was important that I take the long way home last night. This past Tuesday, I received a telephone call telling me that a long time law school friend of mine who lived in Dayton had unexpectedly and tragically died on Monday evening. He had a successful practice, a beautiful wife, a ready smile, confidence, and an easy manner. Joe and I hadn't talked for a number of years as time and distance always seem to dictate. But last summer, midst much trepidation and insecurity on my part, Joe and myself and another close and dear friend and our wives were able to renew old friendships while visiting Put in Bay on Lake Erie. It was if we had just seen each other the night before. The time and distance melted away.
On the long way home last night, I was able to think about all of the people whose life paths have crossed mine over the years. I tried to make sense of what is by any measure an untimely death. And when I wasn’t successful, I thought about what my friend said to me when he called to tell me that Joe had died. He said we should hug our kids, and hug our wives. To his advice I would like to add, take the long way home.
It is in the middle of nowhere. There are two ways to get there. One can hop on the freeway and it is about 40 miles from my driveway down I-80. The other way is to drive through Youngstown and Campbell to Ohio Rt. 422, then to PA 208, and take the winding road through West Middlesex, New Wilmington, and Volant to PA Route 19. That is the long way. Last night, we took the freeway there as I was really hungry, but we took the long way home.
Do you ever take the long way home? Everyone should do that every now and then. The long way home from Mercer is a winding road through rolling hills of manicured farms and picture perfect small, college towns. It is like driving through a landscape. The road is the heart of the Western Pennsylvania Amish country, and the farms are punctuated with rolled hay, corn stacks, and horse and buggies.
The long way home always offers us a surprise. Last summer we took the long way home and drove right into a hot air balloon festival with the balloons and gondolas rising in front of a stunning sunset. Magnificent. The ride down PA 208 is particularly beautiful on a summer’s evening or in the autumn, but no matter what the season or the weather, each trip provides its own distinct mood and beauty. I remember driving home last winter in the dark and snow around Christmas time, and looking at the decorated houses, some simple and others elaborate, lighting up the hills and that dark, snowy road. It doesn't get much better than that.
It was important that I take the long way home last night. This past Tuesday, I received a telephone call telling me that a long time law school friend of mine who lived in Dayton had unexpectedly and tragically died on Monday evening. He had a successful practice, a beautiful wife, a ready smile, confidence, and an easy manner. Joe and I hadn't talked for a number of years as time and distance always seem to dictate. But last summer, midst much trepidation and insecurity on my part, Joe and myself and another close and dear friend and our wives were able to renew old friendships while visiting Put in Bay on Lake Erie. It was if we had just seen each other the night before. The time and distance melted away.
On the long way home last night, I was able to think about all of the people whose life paths have crossed mine over the years. I tried to make sense of what is by any measure an untimely death. And when I wasn’t successful, I thought about what my friend said to me when he called to tell me that Joe had died. He said we should hug our kids, and hug our wives. To his advice I would like to add, take the long way home.
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